Dongting Immortal Clan

After leaving Zhoujia Village, Chen Changhe did not go straight home. He sat on the lake embankment for a long time, staring blankly at the lake.

The lake was gray and hazy in winter, and the wind blew from the north, carrying a biting chill.

Fortunately, his heart fire was strong, which dispelled much of the coldness.

Shrinking his neck, Chen Changhe put his hands in his sleeves, his mind racing with thoughts of what had just happened.

Zhao Mazi's words were harsh, but he was right about one thing.

The Chen family was very poor; they couldn't earn even twenty taels of silver a lifetime just by fishing.

My father is getting old and can no longer cast the net.

My older brother is still single, while other men his age in the village already have two or three children.

As their cultivation deepened, so did their expenses. They had to eat meat at every meal, and if they didn't eat meat for a meal, they would feel anxious.

Today, when asked about the land, he faced Wang Mazi and his men, but he just stubbornly held on, relying not on reason, but on courage.

But what good is courage alone?

If Zhao Mazi really made a move, he probably wouldn't even have the strength to fight back.

Chen Changhe looked down at his palm, where wisps of magical power flowed beneath the skin.

"It's a good method, but it's a pity it doesn't teach how to hit people."

Cultivation is cultivation, and fighting is fighting.

He felt he needed to learn more martial arts to protect himself.

Once the thought popped into my head, I couldn't suppress it anymore.

Chen Changhe stood up, dusted himself off, and strode home.

I walked and thought.

Who in the village is the best at martial arts? Is there a martial arts school in town? How much does it cost to learn martial arts?

Soon, his brows furrowed again.

Poor scholars, rich warriors.

Learning martial arts also costs money.

The family is barely able to afford food, so where would they get the money to send him to learn martial arts?

……

As Chen Changhe approached the village entrance, he saw Chen Dajiang squatting under a camphor tree mending nets.

His hands were red from the cold, and his fingers, which were holding the shuttle, were so stiff that they wouldn't obey him, but he was very serious about mending, stitch by stitch, carefully and meticulously.

Seeing Chen Changhe approach, Chen Dajiang put down the shuttle and gave him a serious look.

"What's wrong?"

"fine."

Chen Changhe shook his head and helped him pack up and go home.

When I got home, there was a medicinal smell in the kitchen.

It was ginger soup that my father made, with some dried mugwort added, saying it could dispel cold.

The old man was sitting in front of the stove, wrapped in a cotton-padded coat, lost in thought.

Holding the bowl in my hands, the ginger soup inside had already gone cold.

He didn't drink it, he just held it like that, as if borrowing that little bit of warmth to warm his hands.

"father."

Chen Changhe squatted down next to his father.

Chen Chuansheng gave a soft "hmm" without turning around.

His cough had subsided, but his complexion was still sallow, his eyes were sunken, his cheekbones were prominent, and he had lost a lot of weight.

Looking at his father's appearance, Chen Changhe felt a lump in his throat, and the words he wanted to say were swallowed back down.

"Speak if you have something to say."

Chen Chuansheng coughed lightly and placed the bowl on the stove.

"You've always been like this since you were little, always keeping your thoughts to yourself until you blush before you're willing to speak."

"..."

Chen Changhe remained silent for a moment after hearing this, but finally spoke.

"I want to learn martial arts."

Chen Chuansheng paused for a moment, then slowly turned his head to look at him.

His gaze was no longer sharp, even somewhat cloudy, but Chen Changhe still felt uncomfortable under his gaze and silently lowered his head.

Chen Chuansheng's voice was hoarse as he frowned and said:

"Did you have a conflict with the Zhou family?"

"no."

"But it didn't work out either."

Chen Changhe shook his head and briefly recounted what had happened that day.

"The steward Zhao from the Zhou family said that to redeem the land, we would need twenty taels of silver."

Twenty taels.

Chen Chuansheng froze, then slowly closed his eyes.

The number felt like a stone that had suddenly hit him in the chest, making it hard for him to breathe.

Years ago, he borrowed five taels of silver using his land as collateral to pay for his wife's medical treatment. Now, with interest compounding, it has grown to twenty taels.

He spent his whole life fishing, and the wealth he accumulated probably wasn't worth this much.

……

"Our family has secrets. If we really get into a conflict with someone, we can't be without means to protect everyone."

Chen Changhe spoke earnestly.

Chen Chuansheng opened his eyes and looked at his profile.

The child's eyebrows and eyes resembled his mother's, long and thin. He usually looked gentle, but when he got angry, his eyes looked like they could devour someone.

"Cough cough cough—"

As he watched, Chen Chuansheng suddenly coughed violently.

Chen Changhe quickly patted his back.

After a while, Chen Chuansheng caught his breath and asked in a hoarse voice:

"Who do you want to learn from?"

"Old Zhang from the village."

Chen Changhe stopped what he was doing and said in a low voice:

"I inquired privately, and he used to work for a security escort agency, so his martial arts skills should be quite good."

"See if I can help him with some chores, and ask him to teach me a few tasks."

Chen Chuansheng fell silent.

Chen Changhe didn't intend to spend money to learn martial arts; instead, he planned to work in exchange for being taught by others.

He knew Old Zhang; he was a ruthless man in his youth, having worked as a镖师 (bodyguard/escort) in the martial arts world. He injured his leg and returned to his hometown.

Whether he has real skills is hard to say, but he's definitely better than the farmers in the village.

At the same time, he knew he couldn't persuade Changhe.

This child looks amiable, but once he makes up his mind, nothing can change it.

After thinking it over, Chen Chuansheng came to terms with it.

"If you want to practice martial arts, your father won't stop you."

His voice wasn't as strong as it was last year, and his throat was so hoarse that he could barely speak.

"But remember what you said today."

"You learn martial arts to protect your family, not to fight and bully others... Do you understand?"

"I've got it."

Chen Changhe breathed a sigh of relief; he had been worried that his father would disagree.

"I'll have your older brother go with you tomorrow."

Chen Chuansheng coughed twice more, picked up the bowl of cold ginger soup from the stove, and took a sip.

"There are still some fish at home. Take a bucket with you. You can't ask someone for a favor empty-handed."

Chen Changhe paused for a moment, then nodded.

"understood."

He stood up, walked to the kitchen door, and then stopped and looked back.

My father was still sitting in front of the stove, his back hunched, holding the bowl of ginger soup in his hand, lost in thought.

The flickering light from the stove illuminated his face, making his wrinkles appear even deeper.

Suddenly, Chen Changhe felt that his father had aged a lot. His nose tingled with emotion, and he turned around and strode out of the kitchen.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The next morning, Chen Dajiang finished tidying up the work on the boat, picked up four or five plump fish with a bucket, and went out with Chen Changhe.

Chen Changhe changed into a cleaner set of clothes, and the two headed towards the east side of the village.

Old Zhang's courtyard is at the easternmost part of the village, next to the lake fork.

The earthen wall was half collapsed and patched up with reeds. The gate was made of a few old wooden planks, crooked and creaking in the wind.

The yard was piled with willow branches and bamboo strips for basket weaving, and a few half-finished plows were placed in the corner. Carpentry tools were scattered all over the ground.

Old Zhang was sitting on a stone stool in the yard, weaving baskets.

Suddenly, his ears twitched slightly as he heard footsteps approaching from afar.

One heavy, one light.

Those heavy, dragging steps belong to someone who often makes a living on the water.

The light-footed man had a steady gait and was a young man.

He raised his head and limped to his feet.

From a distance, Chen Changhe could tell that the old man's shoulders were as broad as a door and his hands as large as palm-leaf fans, clearly indicating that he was a martial arts expert.

Old Zhang has a limp in his left leg and walks with a swaying gait, but his upper body is still upright, his back is straight, unlike other elderly people in the village who are hunched over.

"Uncle Zhang."

Chen Dajiang handed over the fish he was holding.

"Dad asked me to bring you some fish."

Old Zhang took the fish, weighed it in his hand, and found it to be of good weight. He then looked at the color of the gills, which were very bright red, and the scales even shimmered with a bluish light in the winter sun.

He casually put the fish into a wooden basin next to him, added half a ladle of water to keep it alive, and then turned to look at the Chen brothers.

"They came all the way here to deliver fish to me during the Lunar New Year."

"Just say what's on your mind."